


needle and thread, sew up the dead

by reheated_soup



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Toby Smith | Tubbo, if you read this as ship i will replace your shoelaces with limp spaghetti, rip tommy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29830716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reheated_soup/pseuds/reheated_soup
Summary: Tubbo struggles to cope with Tommy's death and their broken friendship. He visits Tommy's home in attempt to find closure, and makes a discovery that breaks him a little.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 105





	needle and thread, sew up the dead

**Author's Note:**

> can anyone tell me why the fuck it's so hard to find a simple tubbo and tommy tag??? i literally had to copy and paste because the normal one didn't show up?????? bruh

_ "The discs were worth more than you ever were!” _

Tubbo knew Tommy fairly well (at least, he hoped he still did). Even if they were on opposite sides now, a person can’t just change miraculously all their quirks after you’ve known them for years. He had a thick skin. You kind of had to in order to be close to Tommy. The teen had difficulty expressing his appreciation, and would often cover it up with a sharp tongue and biting words. He also had an extreme temper when angry, two things which never boded well. So, at Tommy’s cry, Tubbo was shocked, and definitely a little hurt, but part of him knew the words didn’t hold too much merit.

It was Tommy’s actions that cut deeper. 

_ “Tubbo!”  _

_ Tubbo turns in surprise from his seat on his and Tommy’s bench to see the aforementioned boy racing towards him with an excited grin. A smile works its way onto Tubbo’s own face almost instinctively when he sees the mood the boy was in. Tommy crashes onto the bench with a yelp, and Tubbo waits patiently as his friend gasps in breaths of air, watching it puff out into the cold December air. Finally, he looks at Tubbo with bright, almost nervous eyes, and his expression grows more serious. _

_ “Tubbo, you are my best friend, and I’m so so happy to know you. I’m not the easiest person to get to know, or be friends with, but you’ve stuck around, and I really appreciate it. Happy birthday!” Tubbo takes a moment to collect himself, smiling warmly at the words. _

_ “Tommy, that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he admits softly, “but can I ask why you have a bandana with my color around your neck?” _

_ Tommy looks down for a moment, his face red, and Tubbo frowns, about to ask another question. _

_ “It’s so we can always remember that we’re best friends,” is the nervous response. Tubbo grins brightly as he sees what Tommy holds in his outstretched hand- a red bandana, crisp, new, and bright, to match the green one tied around his best friend’s neck. _

That same red bandana, color now muted and fabric dirty, now floats slowly towards the ground as it unravels from where it had been tied around Tubbo’s arm. As the knot frees itself, the fabric drifts apart into two pieces, edges ragged from where a sword had sliced clean through.

Tubbo isn’t sure why he’s breathing so hard. It could be from the sword fight he’d just had, or from the shallow cut now beginning to bleed. He doesn’t really care either way, because as he looks down, his bandana settles on the wet floor of the community house  _ (the one Tommy blew up _ , his mind reminds him, and Tubbo wishes he could kill the intrusive thought). There’s a pregnant pause, only broken by the sounds of rushing water and muttering of the onlookers. He wishes they would all go away. This isn’t a spectacle, it feels like a tragedy, and they aren’t entitled to this moment. Finally, Tommy speaks. 

“Give him the disc,” he forces out. Tommy doesn’t meet his eyes, only lowers his axe and turns away. Pain is laced in between his words, woven deeper than just his outburst.

“...You want me to give Dream the disc…?” Tubbo asks dumbly. He feels like he is reeling backwards at the whiplash. He hears Dream egging the teen on, as well as Technoblade’s warning mutter, but the only things he can really focus on are the disc grasped tightly in his hand, Tommy in front of him, looking more lost than he’d ever been, and the red bandana, torn and trashed, laying forgotten on the floor nearby.

More words are exchanged, and Tommy’s voice takes on a harder edge as he speaks to Technoblade. 

_ ‘He’s wearing a cape matching Techno’s,’ _ Tubbo muses. The thick fabric looks far too big on him, making him look more like a child than a soldier or a warrior.  _ ‘It’s because that’s what he- we- are,’ _ the thought is bitter and cold. He sees Techno grab Tommy tightly by the shoulders, speaking urgently to him. The words fly over his head, but Tommy is pulling away from Techno’s reach, moving to stand next to...Tubbo.

He’s thrown from his thoughts as Tommy and Techno’s voices continue to rise in volume. The grating voice of the anarchist makes Tubbo shiver. He’s not sure how Tommy doesn’t recoil, though it really looks like the teen is forcing himself not to.

“Techno, I’m worse than everyone I didn’t want to be!” Tommy screams, and  _ oh _ . Tears are dropping fast from his face, and for a split second Tubbo sees his gaze fixate on Dream before snapping back. He looks broken, and lonely, and oh-so conflicted. The arguing grows louder, and Tubbo shuts out his mind pulling ghosts of memories filled with fireworks and pain. A hand grasps his tightly, and he sees Tommy raise their arms up. He’s on Tubbo’s side. 

He ignores his shaking limbs as the disc is exchanged, and Dream’s sharp words cut into his chest. Tommy’s shoulder presses against his, only drawing away when they leave the ruins of the community house. Only then did he look back for his best friend, freezing. Tommy’s dull gray eyes were fixed on the red bandana, still soaked and bloodied on the wooden boards. His expression was unreadable, only a sharp crease in his brow as he stood above the fabric. Tubbo turned sharply, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears from falling.

Tubbo’s hands shook as he reached out to open the door to Tommy’s old home. The colorful flowers dotting the grassy knoll almost hurt his eyes, and Tubbo forces his gaze down as the door creaks open. Once it finishes, the silence permeates every corner of the dark interior, torches snuffed out long ago. A thin layer of dust covers every surface, the chests and crafting table and furnaces. The main room is still messy, unorganized, and so very Tommy, that it hurts. Tubbo sighs.

_ ‘If it hurts so much, why can’t I cry?’ _ Tubbo thinks bitterly, knuckles white as he forms his hand into a fist at his side. He stands for a few minutes, wishing for tears that never come, waiting for closure that he knows he’ll never find. Finally, he turns to the stairs, ignoring the fond ache in his chest as he descends into the crazy labyrinth of Tommy’s basement. The air is still and unmoving, no current brushing past him, the entire world feeling frozen in time.  _ ‘That’s why it hurts more,’ _ Tubbo muses softly,  _ ‘...it’s like he never left.’ _

The soft flickering lantern suddenly illuminates a door to his right, and Tubbo frowns. He’s never been through that door before. It still feels wrong to go through it, but Tubbo pushes down the sorrow and guilt. ‘ _ I’ll just take a look, don’t worry Tommy _ ,’ he thinks. The door’s hinges are stiff and let out a loud squeal as Tubbo slowly pushes the door open. He coughs, squinting and waving a hand in front of him as a layer of dust is kicked up from the movement. When it clears enough for him to open his eyes, he gasps.

It’s a fairly small room, he could cross it in about five paces if tried. There’s a desk pushed up against the left wall, an old blown out lantern resting on top. But what makes the room special is the other things inside it. Fabric lays everywhere, strewn about the room from hooks or pinned on the wall, draping across like streamers. On the ground, scattered in the center of the room, are neatly stacked wooden bowls, some set to the side and full of now-dulled color pigments, some spilled across the floorboards. With the low lantern light, Tubbo laughs sadly as he sees a concerningly excessive amount of red dye. He stops, however, seeing the equally copious amounts of green dye, pieces of cactus pushed into a corner nearby.

Tommy had always been the one to repair clothing after it was torn, or even make new clothes for anyone whose closet was destroyed beyond repair. In war, it wasn’t too surprising. After all, some decent protection from the basic elements, and some semblance of dignity were needed. But this room felt like so much more than that. Tubbo let tears prick his eyes for the first time in months. Everything in this room screamed love and care and  _ life _ , something so utterly Tommy it was indescribable. 

He sighed, turning to the desk. The warm oak wood (because of course it was oak wood), despite the layer of dust, was stained red and green and blue, small finger-painted smiley faces or flowers drawn on the surface. Tubbo let his hand run over the drawings softly, grimacing in sorrow. He pulled his gaze away to a small drawer on the side, clearly marked with a smiley face clumsily carved in. He hooked his fingers, pulled it open gently, and gasped.

Inside, folded neatly and carefully, lies a worn red piece of fabric. The color is fresh and bright, but what gives away its age is the softened texture. Tubbo, slowly and carefully, reaches a shaking hand in to pick it up. It unfolds slowly, swaying in his grasp. In one corner is a small green heart, carefully and painfully stitched in with red thread. A long tear through the center is patched with green thread, zig-zagging across the rip. And in the corner again, just below the heart, is tiny script, embroidered in green, clumsy and imperfect but unmistakably-

_ Your Tommy. :) _

Tubbo lets out a wet laugh, his vision going blurry. 

“Finally,” he gasps out, thick tears rolling down his face. He heaves in a breath as a sob wracks his small frame. He clutches the bandana tightly to his chest, knuckles going white as he sinks to his knees. “Tommy,” Tubbo sniffs, “...I miss you so, so much.” Another almost involuntary sob hits him, and he crumbles, soft cries permeating the room as he finally lets himself grieve for his best friend, his other half, his Tommy.

When he leaves, eyes red and with tears still falling, it’s with a bright red bandana tied firmy around his neck, proudly displaying the green and red. 

Ranboo finds him that night, sitting alone on the bench overlooking the SMP. He says nothing, only holding the fabric tightly, eyes straight ahead as tears slowly drip down his face. He stays for a moment, contemplating whether or not to join him. The enderman decides against it, merely turning silently and leaving. For Tubbo’s sake, he’ll go. It’s taken him so long to grieve, he deserves to have privacy while doing it.


End file.
